


Holiday Cookies

by TruthandLies



Category: Descendants (Disney Movies)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, F/F, First Kiss, Food Fight, Holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-10 19:49:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12919035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TruthandLies/pseuds/TruthandLies
Summary: When tensions of a friendlier-than-friendly nature develop between Mal and Evie, they handle things the old-fashioned way: In the kitchen. With a food fight.





	Holiday Cookies

* * *

**Holiday Cookies**

* * *

It starts with a lingering look.

Evie glances up from her sewing to discover Mal curled on a chair with her sketchbook. 

Mal caresses the pages with the tip of her pencil, transforming stretches of white into worlds of graphite wonder. Angles become mountains; edges become streams; curves become pathways leading to anywhere.

The December sun splashes its golden rays through the windows of their dorm, cresting light across Mal’s face.

And Mal transforms, too.

Her lilac waves are set aflame with different shades of purple.

Her fair skin glows with golden radiance.

And when she meets Evie’s gaze with a lingering look, the green of her eyes turns into sunbursts of emerald.

Mal tips her chin toward Evie. “Your sewing.”

But the words are foreign to Evie, who is still captivated by her best friend. “What?”

“Your sewing.” Mal’s voice punches with urgency. “Look.”

Evie breaks the enchantment to glance down at her craftwork. And groans.

The expensive silk is bunched up in the middle, the stitches falling in odd patterns. Nothing like the design she set out to create. 

She flicks off the power, silencing the machine. Glaring at the irreparable fabric.

Mal’s laughter fills the silence, frothy and gentle and light. “Relax, E. It’s just one piece of fabric. You’ll do better next time.”

Evie’s heart flutters.

* * *

Evie’s glances spin out of her control.

One minute, she’s taking notes in Goodness class. The next, she’s staring at Mal’s lips, plush and pillowy and cradling a pencil, which Mal taps against her mouth.

Evie’s notebook is out of her control, too. It topples to the floor in a flurry of pages, disrupting Fairy Godmother’s lecture as everyone turns to stare.

Mal’s perfect mouth climbs upward into a smirk.

And it may be Evie’s imagination, but she swears there’s a glint of mischief dancing in her best friend’s eyes.

Evie’s cheeks burn, and she dips her gaze beneath her lashes.

* * *

It's strange, but soon, Mal starts carrying Evie’s books and walking her to classes they don’t share.

They step together through halls decorated for the holidays, and Evie links her arm with Mal’s, offering her a smile spun from the softest of lip curls. A smile just for Mal, only for Mal.

Mal glimpses Evie’s smile and her eyes widen. She seems captivated by the curl of Evie’s lips.

So captivated that she crashes into a bank of lockers.

Evie checks Mal's head for bumps. She glides her fingers over Mal’s forehead, her cheekbones, her jaw. Because it’s just not possible to know which bit of satin skin was impacted by Mal’s crash into the lockers. 

Mal catches Evie’s hand beneath her own. And offers her a smile, too. A smile crafted from a curl of trembling lips.

After that, Evie senses Mal’s gaze following her wherever she goes. And Mal begins bumping into trash cans and lockers whenever Evie catches her lingering stare.

Which is okay. Because it allows Evie plenty of time to trace her fingers over Mal's skin, checking for injuries.

* * *

The touches continue.

Evie curves up on the couch, hugging her knees to her chest. And Mal curves up beside her, separated only by a bowl of buttery popcorn.

They both stare at the TV, which flickers through images of Christmases past, present, and future. But the sound is indistinguishable; the voices make no sense.

Because throughout the movie, their glances dart from each other to the screen, Evie’s cheeks burning and Mal’s face reddening each time they are caught.

And then there is the touching.

Evie pushes her hand into the buttery kernels, and accidentally grazes Mal’s fingers. 

Flinching, she flips her hand.

Giving Mal the perfect opportunity to run her fingertips along the lines of Evie’s palm, as though she’s searching for popcorn but finding skin.

Evie’s breath is a prisoner to her throat, her hand frozen on the bed of popcorn.

She wants this. Oh, how she wants this. She and Mal know each other so well, but Evie never knew how much she could crave her best friend's touch.

Mal runs her fingertips to the sensitive skin of Evie’s wrist, caressing Evie with feather-light touches. Touches that continue up Evie's forearm, kindling sparks.

Evie’s breath explodes from her lips in a rush. _For all that is wicked._ She is melting. No longer made of muscles or bones, she drops her head onto Mal's shoulder.

And the popcorn bowl tosses over the side of the couch, the kernels spilling onto the floor.

Evie gasps, and her eyes widen. "Oops." 

“Well." Mal links her fingers with Evie's. "I wasn’t much in the mood for popcorn anyway.”

Evie’s rush of breath spasms into uncontrollable laughter, which is joined by spurts of giggling, coming from Mal.

When Evie’s laughter fades and Mal’s face is giggle-induced crimson, their gazes lock. And something passes between them. A look that is lingering and longing and so-much-more-than-best-friendly.

* * *

Soon, they find any excuse to touch.

The halls come to life with signs of the holidays. 

The lockers shine with strands of gold-and-silver garland. 

Candles set into different configurations cast orange-and-yellow flickers across the tile floors. 

The walls turn from white to pine green, bedecked with thatches of holly and wreaths formed into circles and five- and six-pointed stars.

And just inside the school’s main entrance, a towering Christmas tree glitters with blue-yellow-and-green lights, its pine fragrance wafting through the halls and trickling into classrooms.

Evie breathes in the scent and her muscles unclench, even though she sits in English class, sharing a long table with Mal.

Their teacher babbles about Chaucer or Shakespeare or some dead poet, but his words are as nonsensical as the dribble that blathered from the television screen the night before.

Because Mal is sitting close.

And Mal’s knee is brushing Evie’s.

And soon, Mal’s leg joins her knee in the fun, rubbing up and down Evie’s skin. 

Skin which is bare, because Evie wears a skirt.

Evie chokes on a gasp or a moan or something in-between. She tangles her foot with Mal’s. And reaches out to stroke Mal’s hand with her pinkie.

Mal scoots closer. And now their shoulders are brushing, ever so light. Any excuse to touch.

But Mal’s touch is a live wire.

And Evie is electrified.

A bell rings somewhere in the distance. Or maybe somewhere nearby. Evie’s blood is pulsing through her ears, diminishing sound.

There is a muffled scrape of chairs. The broken cadence of voices. Students pushing through the door.

And then there is Jane, with her bright blue eyes and her eager grin, standing by their table. “What are you two doing?”

“Doing?” The word is a wild thing, clawing from Evie’s throat. She jumps away from Mal.

Oh, how she misses the cool seductress she became on the Isle. _Why does Mal make me so crazy?_

Mal stands and gathers her books, her expression cool and not-at-all-wild. “Cookies. We’re doing cookies.”

_Huh?_ Evie’s wild-animal gaze flicks from Jane to Mal to Jane. “Cookies?”

“For the party, E.” Mal adds Evie's books to her own stack. “You know. The one Jane just announced in class.”

“Right.” Evie nods. “Cookies.” _Because why wouldn’t we do cookies?_

A smirk flickers at the corner of Mal’s lips. A smirk joined by the mischievous glint of her gaze.

Evie’s eyes narrow into slits. And the Isle seductress comes out to play. She claims Mal's gaze. And runs the tip of her tongue across her lips. “Yummy.”

__

Jane beams. “Great!”

But Mal drops their books, knocking her chair into the table. 

Evie hides her laughter behind her hand. _Evie: One. Mal: Zero._

The mischief in Mal's gaze sparks into a molten glare.

* * *

The tension follows them into the kitchen, where the seductress disappears back inside her hiding place.

The space is confined. 

And Mal is wearing tight leather pants paired with a wisp of a silk shirt.

Clothes she slipped into before coming to the kitchen.

Clothes that cuddle all her curves.

So when Mal leans against Evie to pour the sugar into their bowl, Evie yelps and accidentally spills half the flour across the countertop.

And when Mal, coated in a white dusting of flour, tosses a stick of butter into the bowl, her chest brushes Evie’s arm.

And Evie’s mind short-circuits, its only signal the softness against her arm. She drops the sugar to the floor, decorating their boots with fine white sand.

Finally, Evie pushes a sheet of cookies into the oven. And steps to a window, gazing outside at the fluttering flakes of snow, attempting to cool her body temperature before another round with Mal.

But Mal misses that memo. And steps up behind Evie.

“Something the matter, E?” Mal’s voice presses against Evie’s ear, an almost-growl that does chaotic things to Evie’s stomach.

And it’s all too much. The clothes. The growl. The touches. 

_She’s trying to get me back for English class._ She clutches a fist around the windowsill. And wills the seductress back out from her fortress.

“Everything’s fine, M,” Evie purrs, even as her stomach rises into her throat. She leans back against Mal, fitting her body to Mal’s curves. _Careful, Evie. Don't pounce. Don't pounce. Don't pounce._ “Why do you ask?”

Mal doesn’t answer, perhaps because her words are trapped in the shortened breaths pushing against Evie’s ear. Her fingers spasm around Evie’s hip just as the oven timer buzzes.

And Evie, whose skin is prickling with goose bumps, rushes away to rescue the cookies from the oven before her mind short-circuits completely and she burns down the kitchen.

When Evie turns around, Mal’s lips are pillowed into a pout. She’s caressing a tube of frosting as if she wishes she were caressing something else instead. Her hair tumbles from her braid in loose purple strands, and her cheeks are powdered white with misplaced flour.

Evie’s grip loosens around the tray, causing the cookies to wobble. It’s all she can do not to toss them to the floor and pull Mal into her arms.

But Mal started this game. 

And Evie’s determined to finish.

Tightening the fingers of one hand around the tray, she places her other hand on her hip. And struts across the kitchen to the counter. Struts with her lips coiled into a seductress smirk.

Mal squeezes the frosting so hard, it squelches from the tube and sails across the kitchen in a thick red line.

A thick red line that collides with Evie’s cheek, splashing into her hair. A mess of sugary red goo.

Evie drops the cookies. They clatter onto the floor, creating the only sound in the room, which swells with silence.

Evie and Mal lock eyes. 

Something passes between them. 

Something charged. 

A static electricity pulsing with all the tension they’ve crafted together. Tension created by lingering looks and forbidden touches and them, just them, Evie and Mal, two best friends who have somehow become something more.

Evie swipes at the goo sticking in her hair. Her hands emerge a sticky red mess. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

“Hey.” Mal raises her hands. “You’re the one who covered me in flour.”

“Oh?” Raising her brows, Evie scans Mal from powdered-purple hair to sugar-crusted boot. “I don’t know, M. I’d say the word _covered_ is a bit too strong.”

“Would you now?” Mal crosses her arms

“Mmhmm.” Evie reaches for the flour. “Now, if you want me to _cover_ you in flour…” She snatches the bag from the counter, unraveling its folded top.

“You wouldn’t.” A warning punches through Mal’s words.

But Evie’s had enough of warnings. She’s had enough of holding everything back.

She’s had enough of restraining herself around Mal. 

Something inside Evie snaps. And she pounces at Mal.

Mal shrieks and shuffles away. “Don’t you dare.”

“Oh, but I do dare.” Tapping into the cat-like grace she developed on the Isle, Evie traps her best friend against the wall.

Mal reaches up. Grabs a portion of the bag of flour.

But Evie grips a portion, too. So when she upends the flour over Mal, Mal upends the flour over Evie. And they both end up covered in thick white snow.

From beneath her mask of white, Mal’s eyes flash electric green. “I’d run if I were you, Princess.”

Something about the flash of Mal’s eyes has Evie scooting backwards. She backs up against the counter and grabs some leftover dough. Balls it in her fist. “You can always just surrender.”

“Never.” Mal launches across the kitchen and grabs two tubes of frosting from a shelf. She uncaps the tops and aims both tubes at Evie.

They face each other across the expanse of kitchen, their chests rising and falling, their gazes smoldering with all of the emotion they’ve worked so hard to suppress. And then, like two girls raised on the Isle who learned to fight both pirates and sea urchins, they whoop out war cries and toss their weapons.

The dough lands in Mal’s hair. On her shoes. In the V of her shirt.

The blue and green frostings join the red on Evie’s face, in her waves, in the pleat of her skirt.

Weaponless, they launch themselves at each other, crashing together in a flurry of flour and frosting and dough.

But this isn’t a fight on the Isle.

No, this isn’t a fight at all.

Their bodies are buzzing in no-thought-just-action-warrior-mode, so when they end up to-to-toe, Evie wraps her arms around Mal’s waist. And Mal clasps her fingers around Evie’s shoulders. Their eyes lock, their gazes electrified with emotion. 

And they collide together in a crash of lips. 

A kiss that sizzles and sparks and tastes like crispy holiday cookies.

_Finally._ Evie tugs Mal closer, until their curves melt and mold. 

Snow flutters outside the windows, creating a landscape of shimmering white. The cookies cool on the floor, sending the delicious smell of sugar wafting through the air.

And Mal and Evie tangle together, brushing lips and tasting tongues and swapping edible sweets. Evie’s floury face becomes crusted with dough. Mal’s powdered-purple is colored blue and green and red with frosting.

When they part, their breaths shortened and their cheeks dusted red beneath the floury white, Mal leans her forehead against Evie’s and whispers, “Best dessert ever.”

Evie’s grin stretches so wide, she feels it in her cheeks. “But what are we going to serve everyone else?”

“They can get their own.” Mal tugs at Evie's hips. And kisses her again.

They show up to the party with hands empty of dessert, but fingers twined together in a way they both agree is so much better than holiday cookies. Unless, of course, the holiday cookies are kisses coated in frosting and flour.


End file.
